Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Homer visits the greats of World Literature in the company of six sexy writers of Internet Erotica.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Denny Wheeler for proofreading and editing major parts of this story and to JCX for helping me with the French and general proofing. Remaining errors, and there are probably plenty of them, are mine. I also express gratitude to my good-humored fellow travelers, whose only mistake was to accompany me on the trip and who have paid for it dearly by receiving unrelenting derision of their personae. Even their own words of demurral and correction have been used against them shamelessly.

"No, NO, NooOOO!!!" I screamed.

I sat up drenched in cold sweat. I hadn't heard the alarm and my watch told me I was late. Louie's car would be here at 5:00 AM to take me to the station. I fairly flew through my morning shower and shave and raced downstairs to have a quick breakfast. No time for the usual, sausage and eggs; I reached for the cereal. Funny, I'd swear that the leprechaun on the Lucky Charms box was smirking at me.

I was still gulping down my bowl of nutritious "frosted whole-oat cereal with marshmallows" when I heard the horn -- sounded tinny. Walking out of the front door, I looked out toward the street but didn't see the limo. "Down here!" came Louie's sarcastic voice.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed as I looked down on the green, nineteen-foot long, two-foot high vehicle.

"You told me how 'long' you wanted it; you didn't say anything about the height," the green imp smirked.

"How do you expect me to get into that?" I asked.

"I don't. I expect you to make it worth my while to enlarge it."

"Damn you! I'm already paying you a shit pot full of gold to charter the Fantasy Train today. A free limo ride to the station is the least you could do."

"Never done much business with leprechauns, have you?"

I lunged for him but he ducked and I banged my head on the side of the miniature automobile, "Ouch! You bastard. Oh, shit! How much?"

Louie named an outrageous figure and I agreed. Smiling contentedly, he gave a little nod and the limo started growing taller. It stopped at about four feet.

"Is that it?"

"You said you wanted to be able to get into it."

I lunged again but only succeeded in adding a second bruise to my forehead. Accepting defeat, I scrunched myself into the passenger's seat. Tucking my knees into the impossibly small compartment, I gave ironic thanks for my Third-World ancestry that permitted me to travel this way. "I hope you didn't make the women ride in this kind of inconvenience," I scowled.

"Of course not. They are my guests and I am a gentleman."

"No they are MY guests and you are NO gentleman, but thank you, anyway. Did you have any trouble persuading them to come?"

"No, I spewed them the line you gave me. 'The Fantasy Train was being misused for all sorts of juvenile shenanigans - Star Trek spoofs, visits to strippers, a scavenger hunt! We are supposed to be authors of sophisticated erotica, not sophomoric pranksters. This was their opportunity to go into the past and visit real authors and their characters.' Of course I also promised they'd be able to bonk the source of their inspiration," he grinned.

"Yeah, I thought that would get them. They all have literary pretensions but they are horn dogs, too. So, no problems?"

"Of course there were problems when they found out who was inviting them! I believe it was Allison who stated it most succinctly, 'No way! That little fucker just wants to get me alone so he can knock me up. How stupid does he think I am?'"

"But you explained about..."

"The 'Magic Diaphragm,' yes. I promised on my word as a leprechaun that so long as they wore it, no one would be able to get them pregnant."

"And they believed you?"

"People always believe leprechauns; we cannot lie."

"Yeah, but you didn't tell them..."

"Shut up! Do you want to spoil the climax of your own story?"

"Er, not the climax!" I agreed. Sometimes Louie wasn't such a bad imp.

"Well, here we are at the station. I'll be going to the train."

"Thanks," I said trying to extricate myself from the ridiculous vehicle and maintain as much dignity as possible. After all, I was trying to make a good impression on six of the greatest writers in the ASS community. They were already at the station, standing on the platform watching me and trying not to laugh - not hard enough. I had never met any of them before, but it was easy to distinguish them.

Allison was the cute one with short brown hair, flipped slightly on the ends. She looked ready for her first day at university in a knee-length full skirt and blouse. I didn't have to wonder what she wore under the skirt.

Miss Behavin' had on a tailored cream-coloured business suit with the skirt cut about four inches above the knee. That's where the slit started. There wasn't much business transacted at her office when she wore THAT, I thought. Her hair was straight and blond as the day it was dyed.

Virago Blue was even taller than her tales would have you believe, a tower of a woman with hair the color of polished brass that threw back the first hint of dawn. Supple skins clung to her massive but shapely figure. And leather-thong sandals with 5" heels: now that was hot! Her eyes appraised me sternly.

The contrast with Maria could hardly be greater. The hot little Latina stood hardly taller than Louie, although there was a lot of girl packed into her curvy form. She wore a tight red mini with a lacy white blouse, her dark breasts clearly discernible. She looked as if she had just come from strutting in a mall.

Bronwen was much younger than she'd led us to believe. She must have noticed our surprise. "I had Louie pick me up several years ago; I wanted to look my best," she announced with a don't-you-wish -*you'd*-thought-of-that smile that brought glares of resentment from the other women. Very straight, like her stories; she had almost delicate features and dark hair. Her blue eyes and firm chin gave her face a burning intelligence. LW could hope that Allison looked as good when she grew up.

Janey, on the other hand, was exactly as she had pictured herself. She was tall and had long brown hair with a touch of gray - she hadn't told us about that, but...

"Hold on Vargas!" Janey yelled. "I'll accept the 'gray.' I'll even accept 'brown,' though it's really ash blonde. (Look at the Clairol bottles in the drugstore to find out what that is.) But NOT 'long.' Long brown hair with gray in it is 'Cambridge' -- double-plus tacky. No! No! NO! 'short' hair! You better pay attention! I'm bigger than you are!" Oops!

Janey, on the other hand, was exactly as she had pictured herself. She was tall and had short, ash-blonde hair with a touch of gray that Miss Clairol had missed - she hadn't told us about that, but it was sexy as hell. She had chosen a long skirt with a slit high enough to make nudists gawk and it fell from the hips of - a woman.

"Hey, Homer," shouted Louie from the cab of the train, "Cut out that shit about their eyes and hair and chin for chrissake! Tell us about their boobs. The guys that read ASSM want to know how big these babes' titties are. And be descriptive. They want to hear about 'humongous hooters,' 'bountiful bazookas,' 'magnificent mammaries!'"

"Shut up, Louie; I'm writing this story!" I yelled back. "I don't *write* about ladies' bust sizes! This is a serious literary exercise in which six well-known writers, each admired for her ASS,... work, are going to encounter the fonts of their artistic imagination. You can't expect me to insult women like that by talking about their bra sizes!"

"I'm a 34B," piped up Allison.

I covered my face.

"Hmmp!" sniffed Miss Behavin', "*I*'m a 36C."

"Very cute. What do you call them, 'Dow' and 'Corning?'" Janey asked, cattily.

"Mine may be small," Janey announced, "But all the men go ape over them. These little jobbies get so hard, my last lover pierced his tongue on my nipple."

I felt like crawling under a rock.

"My 'chichis' look cool like this!" Maria interjected, throwing her head down and holding her arms up behind her as if suspended from her kitchen ceiling.

"I think you girls are trying to make mountains out of mole hills" boomed Virago Blue who silenced the women's silly prattle by pulling aside her wolf-skin bodice to reveal a set of humongous hooters. This woman was stacked like a brick shithouse! I mean, she had a bodacious brace of bountiful bouncing bazookas, a tumescent twosome of toothsome mammoth mammaries, a...

The sound of Louie's giggle stopped me.

Busted!

The sight of six such amazingly beautiful, totally different women took my breath away. The women were equally surprised to see me. "Disappointed" would be a better word. Maria had probably guessed what a Vargas would look like, but the others had entertained vain hopes of someone taller and more rugged, maybe a slightly older Ricky Martin or Antonio Banderas. "Oh, well, I wasn't planning on fucking him, anyway," said six sets of eyes.

"Thank you so much for coming this morning to the Fantasy Train, ladies," I said, smiling in the face of their dismay. "Shall we board?" I stood by the tall step of the rail car and offered each authoress my hand, being gentlemanly, as my Southern mama had taught me. She didn't say I couldn't try to peek up their skirts as I did so. Even better than the furtive glances was the aroma. Ahhh! What can smell better on a chilly morning than a warm pussy?